


Nothing Linear About You

by Ceebee



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Desk Sex, Drug Use, Jazz - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceebee/pseuds/Ceebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1930s!AU. Merlin's list of addictions starts at the jazz club, where he's living the dream and getting paid to play piano into the night. It ends with Arthur Pendragon, who is always there to listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Linear About You

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely write PWPs and this is probably the closest I've come to it in a long time, namely because when I decided to write a 1930s!AU I was listening to Angel Coulby singing and consequently all I could think about was sex.
> 
> Thank you to Izzy who was pretty much an endless source of knowledge when I was writing this--thanks to her, I spent most of last Saturday listening to awesome jazz recommendations and didn't even need to Google what type of hat Merlin would be wearing (a trilby, FYI). 
> 
> Also, mahoosive thanks to Caitlin for staying up late to BETA this for me *grins*
> 
> **A few WARNINGS!** The characters in this fic are, for the most part, pretty high. Mentions of drug/alcoholism throughout, some not-so-subtly implied incest at the start annnnnd a fair amount of sex.

~/~/~

Merlin had started off the evening by keeping one eye on Gwen and the other on the piano keys, back bowed over the ivory as he breathed in the heady stink of jazz that always reminded him of the smell of sex in dark spaces—cigarette smoke, perfume, sweat and alcohol. His own body was slick from the heat of the room and his fingers slid across the keys, drawing in notes that were never written on the score, but it didn’t matter because it was all about improvising anyway. Around him the whole band grappled to stay in control of the music, wondering whether it might be more natural to simply let it take them over instead.

Merlin liked the way jazz did that to people; simultaneously set them free and made them slaves to the sweet burn of playing the right chord at the right climax of the right moment.

At the back of the room, one man had already succumbed and was having a fit against the wall. Merlin had been glancing over at him from time to time, watching him progress from the toilets with blown pupils, to the bar, to where he was now, twitching and yelling something about God while a girl leant her head against his shoulder and drank vodka, glassy-eyed. They hadn’t arrived together but Merlin could already imagine the marks they would leave on each other’s bodies.

That thought didn’t make him groan as much as the sight of Gwen, now curled around her microphone and, after hours of being there, no longer just singing but breathing out the notes, deep and guttural. Merlin wondered how there were men in the world that weren’t wound up and drawn tight by this.

He couldn’t say it was Gwen herself—even with her skin glowing like that in the cigarette light and the way she moved, so obviously high and shattered. They had grown up together, and she was gorgeous but more like a sister to him than anything. He knew it was the atmosphere that got him like this, with his limbs shaking and hips colliding with the piano as he jerked uncontrollably, trying to force everything and nothing out of his fingers and into the music.

Once a man had told him that he fucked like he played and he played like he fucked. Merlin had just shrugged and agreed, and after having sex with the guy without coming he had sat at his piano, alone and aching, before setting his forefinger to E flat and orgasming with a spasm.

He wasn’t quite sure _when_ jazz and sex had become so closely linked in his mind, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with Arthur, who had been dancing with his sister for most of the night already. They had been grinding against each other as people pressed close from all sides, pushing them ever nearer to the stage. Merlin looked down towards them and couldn’t hold back the whine that spilled from his lips just as Arthur met his gaze, a predatory smirk stretching across his mouth even as he bit out something undoubtedly filthy against Morgana’s ear.

Merlin tore his eyes away to look back at Gwen. At some point during his distraction she must have straightened up because now, fuck, she was dancing with her head thrown back, untethered and stunning. Merlin shouted in mindless approval, knees banging against the underside of the piano as he licked the sweat from his upper lip.

He managed to ignore Arthur and Morgana for about half a minute before Arthur’s hand was on the stage by his foot, close enough to reach out and fasten around Merlin’s ankle. But when Merlin chanced a glance in his direction, Arthur was engrossed with something Morgana was saying to him, or perhaps enjoying the smoke she was blowing coolly into his face.

Something inside Merlin’s stomach twisted, and the sensation felt similar to hunger, or the way he was when it had been too long since he last got high. It was that pang of deprivation that made Merlin feel sick on the nights when the band had no bookings and he ended up spending the small hours alone in his room instead, working his way through a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of whiskey—having an affair with the wireless until it was late enough in the morning to consider going to bed.

He decided to wait for a minute, half listening to Gwen’s voice lilting ever higher with each phrase, reaching and reaching for that breathy ledge that had once tipped Merlin over the edge when it had been so late that he could hardly see anymore, let alone control his body and the strange things it did in the night time. He decided to wait until he was _sure_ Arthur was ignoring him on purpose, letting his hand creep closer to Merlin’s shoes and then pause before sliding away again.

He stopped waiting when Arthur gave up pretending that he hadn’t moved closer purely for the delight of teasing Merlin, and flashed him a sharp, white smile.

Merlin gasped, exposing his throat as he leant all the way back, barely managing to stay on the piano stool with only his fingers remaining connected to the instrument, still adlibbing around a key that he was sure had been major at the start of the song.

He watched upside down as Arthur moved away from Morgana, leaving her with her back pressed up against the stage, nodding her head to a beat Merlin couldn’t hear—he wasn’t even sure that there _was_ a beat anymore, just a continuous swell and fall with no noticeable pattern to it. There was nothing linear about the jazz being played that night, and that was how Merlin liked it best.

Arthur reached him, still standing on the floor rather than the stage, but perfectly able to cup Merlin’s face in his hands. It was uncomfortable for Merlin, with his body contorted in such a way; bent back so far that his feet were lifting off the floor and he was barely able to keep playing. Arthur’s face was funny at this angle, too, and Merlin wondered where his lips would land if he tried to kiss him.

“This is the last song,” Arthur interrupted his musings, murmuring into his ear, and Merlin’s eyes watered from the strain of the position and the sudden desire that flooded up into his throat. Arthur wasn’t asking him a question so he didn’t give an answer, instead letting Arthur slip his hands beneath his head and push him upright again.

The music came easy as breathing after that. Someone dancing was screaming “ _Fuck, fuck, man, I got you, I got it, I got it,_ ” like he had discovered something worthwhile in this hellhole. It made Merlin laugh, hunched over his piano and buzzing right from the soles of his feet.

~/~/~

  
Merlin didn’t need to pack anything up at the end of the night—the piano wasn’t his. All that there was to gather were his own wits. He lurched to his feet once the song ended and told the others he was leaving—they had played well over their set tonight, anyway. Gwen just looked slightly dazed for a moment, until Merlin staggered over and gave her a one armed hug.

“Morgana’s down there,” he jerked her head towards where Morgana was beginning to turn around. It seemed that she had acquired another drink from someone and she waved up at Merlin as she knocked it back. “Go home with her.”

“Okay,” Gwen yawned and stretched her arms above her head, and Merlin couldn’t help but pull her close enough to nuzzle his face into the heat of her neck and make her laugh. She smelt of nothing but the club, and maybe it should have been awful but Merlin thought it was fucking great. He pressed a kiss to her skin before pulling away and hopping down off the stage.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he called back to them, then began shouldering his way through the crowd, revelling in the few shouts of appreciation for the evening that chased after him, although most of the people only seemed half aware that the music had even stopped. They were all too busy breathing each other in and taking each other out back, up front, back home.

Merlin shivered in relief when he finally got outside and Arthur was waiting for him, holding out his coat and hat. Merlin took the coat with shaky fingers and shoved his arms through the sleeves, only to have Arthur press a pair of gloves, black and worn and fingerless, into his hands the moment they were free. He mumbled out his thanks as he pulled them on with his teeth, then didn’t waste any time in fishing a cigarette out from one of his pockets and lighting it up, taking a drag. Arthur hummed something under his breath that Merlin chose to hear as approval, but when he offered up the cigarette Arthur shook his head and instead went about putting Merlin’s hat on for him, tugging it down so the brim rested just above his ears.

“You ready?” he asked, standing still and waiting to give Merlin enough time to wipe some of the sweat from his eyes and stretch the jazz-induced cramps out of his fingers.

“Yeah. Yeah, back to mine?”

“Back to yours.”

They always went ‘back to Merlin’s’, even though Arthur’s house was nicer and, well, actually _a house_. Merlin’s apartment was five floors up and consisted of a bedroom, a closet that had been ambitiously named ‘bathroom’ in the ad, and a kitchen adjoining the living room. Merlin didn’t really give a fuck about where he lived as long as there was room for the piano, and consequently a good portion of Merlin’s space was taken up by the instrument. It stood squarely in the middle of the living room floor, obtrusive and annoying in every moment that it wasn’t being used either to create music or as a surface for fucking against.

Merlin thought about that—about how the wooden frame would end up bruising his hips if Arthur were to bend him over it tonight—and fumbled as he tried to unlock the door. He felt so deliciously dizzy and numb that it was all he could do not just to give up and lean back against Arthur’s chest, knowing that he was standing just behind him in case he was needed to prop Merlin up.

In the end, Arthur reached around him and twisted the key until there was a _click_ and the door swung open. Merlin moaned a soft thank you and turned to kiss Arthur before they were even fully inside. He smelt like Morgana’s perfume, but Merlin had kissed Morgana once and thankfully there was none of her cherry lipstick tang on Arthur’s mouth.

“Wait,” Arthur grunted when Merlin pulled back for air. He splayed his fingers along the wall, searching for the light.

“Don’t bother,” Merlin said when he realised what Arthur was doing, and tugged him all the way in so he could shut the door and lean back against it. “Gave up with electricity bills weeks ago.”

Arthur hesitated, finger hovering above the switch, before huffing out an annoyed sigh. “You can’t just ‘give up’ with your bills.”

“I can if I don’t need light,” Merlin pointed out as he took off his hat and dropped it to the floor. Three seconds later and the gloves fell down to join it. “And seriously, Arthur, I reckon we’ve done this enough times for me to know my way around.”

It took Arthur a second or so before his face scrunched up in a laugh that made Merlin scowl.

“Oi, I’m serious, shut u—” he began, but was cut off when Arthur grabbed him and pulled him roughly, dragging him across the room. For an instant, Merlin thought that their first stop really would be the piano and he winced because yeah, it could be sexy as anything, but it could also hurt like hell. But all Arthur did was manhandle Merlin around it, laughing some more when Merlin’s elbows accidently knocked against the keys and several brutalised chords rang through the flat as a result.

“You were gorgeous tonight,” Arthur breathed against Merlin’s throat as they finally stumbled into the bedroom, “d’you know how bad I wanted to get you off that fucking stage, and just—” he groaned, smoothing a hand all the way up Merlin’s back and then fisting it in his hair, crushing their mouths together. Merlin could feel himself melting, or maybe he was crashing downwards—it was hard to tell which way was up and which was just burning hot when all he could taste was what Arthur put in his mouth.

They never wasted time on nights like this—not nights when Merlin had already been hard for hours, no more than a second away from release as Gwen crooned out her soul and everyone sweated away the week’s burdens. Arthur was always quick in bundling Merlin onto the single bed and straddling his legs, twisting at the button of his trousers.

Merlin couldn’t help but buck his hips, vision blurred and spectral as his hands scrabbled for Arthur, coming into contact with his knees and grasping hold, nails digging in.

“Shh,” Arthur leant in to tongue at the corner of Merlin’s mouth, smiling slightly when Merlin’s lips parted helplessly for him. “You’re trembling. God, Merlin, you’ve been trembling all night.”

Merlin moaned and nodded his head jerkily because he knew it was true—he felt like there were strings connected to every one of his pores and a man at the other end had them all between his teeth, biting down and shaking Merlin up until he couldn’t stand it. He panted, letting go of Arthur’s legs in favour of reaching for his own cock, still inside his trousers and straining upwards now that the button had been undone.

Arthur shifted out of the way, pulling back from Merlin who heard himself Goddamn _keen_ at the loss.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Arthur hissed, and shoved Merlin’s hand away so he could palm at Merlin’s cock himself, slipping a hand beneath all the fabric and curling practiced fingers around the throbbing length of it. “When did you get so far gone, I’m so gone for you Merlin, so fucking _gone_ ,” and his eyes were hot coals in the dark and _he_ was quivering too, with pink splotches on his cheeks and all these rattling judders shooting through him.

Merlin thought about how minutes ago they had been talking about bills and choked out a laugh. At the sound of it, Arthur’s expression softened, losing whatever it was that had him looking quite so wrecked and gaining something so deeply fond that it made Merlin twitch and sigh.

“God, I’m gonna take you—” Arthur started on a whisper, dragging his hand up and off Merlin’s dick and moving his whole body forwards to make it easier to grind down, deliberately rolling his hips and making Merlin writhe. “—Fucking higher than you’ve ever _been_.”

The last word was spoken like a punch, and Merlin felt it uncurl somewhere in his gut as Arthur rucked up his shirt, tugging free what was still tucked into his trousers and pushing it up until Merlin’s chest was exposed. Merlin had half a second to catch the glint in Arthur’s eye—not nearly enough time for him to shout or laugh or try to pull away—before there were fingers clamping down on his nipples.

Everything was over sensitised and Arthur knew it. He knew that the fumes from the club and the drink and the dirty needles beneath the bed meant that Merlin couldn’t help the quiet scream that he let out when the pink skin began to tighten and pebble beneath Arthur’s touch. He knew that every tiny brush, let alone violent tweak, would go straight to Merlin’s cock.

“Arthur,” Merlin thumped his fists down on the mattress, arching his back so that his ribs pressed pale bands beneath the thin skin of his chest, but unable to thrust his hips up with Arthur sitting there. “Arthur, Arthur, _Arthur_ —”

Arthur curled closer, murmuring under his breath and lowering his neck so he could press damp lips to the hollow of Merlin’s throat and the shadowed space under the first rib on his left side. “All right, love,” he promised quietly. “I’m getting there, shh, all right.”

He kept moving down Merlin’s body, unbuttoning the rumpled shirt as he went, reverent like every new inch of skin was a holy place to be explored and tasted. Merlin just stared up at his ceiling and let it happen, his head spinning as he examined the spider-web cracks in the paint that spindled out from corner to corner, crisscrossing and intertwining. Every spot where they met reminded Merlin of Arthur and the day they had first seen each other across the room in the lovely, hazy dark. Merlin had been playing piano with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, track marks like slivers of silver down to his wrists. Arthur had been dancing with his arms above his head, slack mouth hanging open as he sang and shouted, looking manic and Godlike with sex-crazed girls and boys vying for his attention.

It was Merlin who had got it, though—captured Arthur’s gaze and held it with a quickening pulse, ready in an instant to become another fracture in the furniture, another split in the ceiling of Arthur’s life. Ready to crumble and for them to cross paths again and again and—

He let out a steady breath and felt it rush all the way to his toes as Arthur sucked the head of his cock into his mouth. Merlin grunted slightly when sure hands curled around his thighs. Arthur loved Merlin’s thighs. He had never said it out loud, but Merlin knew because Arthur always spent so long grazing at them with his teeth, nipping gently at the softer skin inside his knees and rubbing a stubbled cheek across the pale expanse of flesh until he was close enough to press the flat of his tongue to Merlin’s balls.

Now, Arthur just rubbed his thumbs into Merlin’s skin in circles through his cotton trousers in an effort to stop him from moving too violently as Arthur hollowed his cheeks around his dick and took him all the way to the back of his throat. Everything was a mix of heavy bliss and wet desperation that made Merlin want to curl up into a tight ball and rock until it was time to explode right there, between Arthur’s pretty red lips.

It was at that moment, as if Arthur could read Merlin’s thoughts and knew how little it would take, that he slid his hands around Merlin’s thighs and under his buttocks, pressing fabric upwards into the crease between his arse cheeks. Merlin’s eyes, already open and glazed, widened at the burn of material being forced into his hole by the tip of Arthur’s thumb, and it was that hot little edge that made him clench up, then go completely boneless.

Arthur kept on sucking, lashes fluttering gold as Merlin quaked through his orgasm, until Merlin’s prick was soft and his rasping breaths had turned into whimpers.

“Mmm,” he hummed, limbs feeling scrambled and his mind unable to process anything but Arthur and his solid, perfect weight pressed against Merlin’s shins. He lay very still for a moment, giving the world time to slot back into place, then began to sit up and stretch out his arms so he could attempt to wrap them around Arthur’s shoulders and tangle his fingers in the damp strands of blond at his nape. The motions helped to bring Merlin back, although he wasn’t quite sure where he’d been or why he would ever want to leave.

Arthur allowed it for about ten seconds, blinking lazily at Merlin as his hair was weakly tugged at and his collar accidently pushed up the wrong way, before shoving forward and placing a hand on the side of Merlin’s neck, directly over his pulse.

“You feel good?” He asked, voice rough, and lightly pinched Merlin’s earlobe—probably just because that was one of the only parts of Merlin’s body that he hadn’t yet smothered with attention. Merlin tilted his head into the touch, letting Arthur’s knuckles brush against his jaw.

“Could be better,” he said with a grin that punctured dimples and made Arthur’s eyes narrow.

“Oh, really?”

Merlin nodded seriously despite the smile, then lifted a hand to tap a finger against Arthur’s bottom lip. “ _Want_ ,” he said.

Arthur snorted, “As if I haven’t given you enough of that already,” but complied, first catching Merlin’s finger with a quick bite, then moving it aside in favour of prising Merlin’s curved mouth open with his and dipping his tongue inside.

The kiss was gentle because Merlin was still slightly breathless and Arthur wasn’t much better. It was more of an exercise in giving their exhales enough weight to pass as kiss-like caresses, with tongues flitting in and out to help.

“That’s enough,” Arthur muttered after a minute, just when Merlin had found the strength to try and take off Arthur’s shirt, fingers scrabbling at the top button. They were both kneeling up on the bed now and Merlin’s cock was still the only thing that was completely naked, not counting the desire in both of their eyes.

“Man, Merlin, you feel this?” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hand and brought it down between their bodies to hold it against his clothed dick, straining upwards.

“Yeah,” Merlin groaned and pressed down with the heel of his hand. “Arthur, let me—”

“No,” Arthur stopped Merlin by twisting their fingers together, then got to his feet so he stood by the bed, holding hands with Merlin. “I’ve got a better idea. C’mon, get up.”

Merlin lifted an eyebrow as he examined the points where his skin touched Arthur’s—the joins between their fingers and the pale lines left behind when nails scraped over flesh—but crawled to the edge of the bed on his knees. Arthur kissed him again when he was near enough, sweet and sticky and fleeting, before letting go of Merlin’s hand and lifting him up with his arms wrapped tightly around Merlin’s waist.

Merlin laughed and squirmed until he was lowered back to the ground, but when he _was_ standing his legs wanted to give way almost immediately—only Arthur’s hand, firm on the small of his back, kept him upright.

“Tell me again why you don’t have a double bed, Merlin,” Arthur said, once Merlin was steady on his feet and starting to sway to the remnants of jazz still floating through his head.

He frowned at Arthur, bemused, then shrugged. “Didn’t know you when I bought this place, or I might have invested in one.”

Arthur grinned at that but it still didn’t seem to be the answer he was looking for because, as he finally began to push Merlin’s coat from his shoulders, he asked in a voice so low that it made the back of Merlin’s neck prickle. “And why else?”

“Uh...” Merlin’s mouth was completely dry and he blinked, trying to understand what Arthur might be getting at. It finally came to him in a wave of heat that made the tips of his ears flush red when Arthur finished ridding him of his coat and started unbuckling his own belt with fingers that were moving just a bit too quickly to be described as anything but _frantic_. “I needed room for... for the desk.”

If Merlin hadn’t been sure of Arthur’s intentions before he gave that second reply, he was certain when Arthur licked his lips and breathed, “ _Yeah_.”

There was not even the smallest space left for doubt when Arthur nosed along Merlin’s jaw line, scraping his teeth around the rim of his ear, then grabbed hold of Merlin’s wrists and towed him across the room towards his cluttered desk.

Merlin barely had time to wonder whether this would be as uncomfortable as the piano, or if it might be even fucking better, before Arthur had knocked aside the paperweight in the shape of a wizard’s hat that Gwen had bought him last Christmas, Merlin’s only fountain pen, and a packet of coke that spilled half its contents as it hit the floor. Then he shoved Merlin forward.

All the air fled Merlin’s lungs as he was bent in half, not even caring that Arthur’s leather shoes were pressing expensive drugs into the carpet—not caring yet. He could care tomorrow, when he would be so fucked out that everything would be nicer anyway.

Arthur spent a good long moment just running his hands all over Merlin, carefully pulling off the already unbuttoned shirt without any hurry, one sleeve at a time. By the time he had dropped it to the floor Merlin was well on his way to being very hard for the second time that night, and he whined against the tabletop, wriggling desperately because everything Arthur did was so damn _slow_.

“No,” Arthur fastened fingers around the back of Merlin’s neck to hold him in place, but the grip was slippery with sweat and Arthur’s breathing was ragged and unchecked. “Fuck, Merlin. You’re so amazing. Do you know? When you play, do you know how talented you are?”

Merlin couldn’t move his head, and the only sounds he was able make were incoherent. He wasn’t sure what his answer would be anyway—yes, he was brilliant, or no, he had fucked everything up.

“We’ve gotta stop all this,” Arthur groaned out even as he used his free hand to wrench at the waistband of Merlin’s trousers and shove them down to his knees. “You’re so much better than this, Merlin. Why d’you do this shit? Why d’you do it?”

The words were mere murmurs by this point, sinking into Merlin’s skin when Arthur pressed his lips to his back, finally releasing his hold on Merlin’s neck and beginning to finger his hole. Arthur prised Merlin’s arse cheeks apart without even watching what he was doing—too intent on each bony knob of Merlin’s spine.

“’Cause I like it,” Merlin managed to force out after a few tremulous seconds. Arthur faltered in his exploration of Merlin’s lower back and entrance, fingertips pausing in their efforts to push inside him. “I like doing it—I like the jazz, fuck, I _love_ the jazz. I like...” he sucked in a breath when Arthur pulled away from him entirely, and he was left unprotected from the cold of the room.

“I’m not leaving,” Arthur assured when Merlin attempted to lever himself upright. “Stay where you are. I just need some slick.”

“Oh,” Merlin let himself collapse forward once more, awash with a relief that he was sure shouldn’t have been so strong. “Bedside—”

“—Table, second drawer down, I know, Merlin. Come on, keep talking. Tell me what it is you like.”

Merlin smiled a little and forced himself not to stray to the left just so he could rut against the desk leg. He felt so damn content to do anything he pleased, safe in the knowledge that Arthur would always come back to him, that it was ridiculously difficult not to move. “I like...mmm, I like drinking. I like drinks that burn me up inside, ‘specially when I can see you from the bar, and you’re dancing. Fuck, Arthur, I like it when you dance.”

“Yeah?” Arthur was back again and this time when he breached Merlin, the fingers were oily and they slipped in with ease. Merlin shoved back instinctively, suddenly unable to think. “How much d’you like it?”

“So much,” Merlin’s bit his lip hard enough to taste blood as Arthur added a third finger, crooking it and _searching_. “Could come just from watching you, if the right music’s playing.”

“Gotta stop,” Arthur whispered into his ear. He sounded almost pained as he drew the fingers back then began fucking Merlin with them, not quite hitting that delicious spot inside but circling it and causing Merlin to jerk into each thrust with a whimper. “I’m ruining your life, I’ve gotta stop.”

“ _No_ ,” Merlin hissed, because they had been round and round this before—Arthur swearing a litany of ‘ _sorry_ ’s and ‘ _no more, no more_ ’s as he came inside Merlin, or striped the backs of his thighs, chest, face with it.

Merlin didn’t know what it would take to assure Arthur that this life he was living was glorious, and if he knew he would drop dead because of it tomorrow he still wouldn’t change a thing.

“C’mon, Arthur,” he stretched a hand behind him and made a grab for Arthur’s cock, which was sliding between Merlin’s legs, hot and hard. He missed when Arthur moved out of reach and left Merlin feeling devastatingly empty.

The sob that ripped through him tasted like alcohol and God, was there anything that didn’t intoxicate him? Anything that he could bear not to have, do, taste again?

“You can’t stand it, can you?” Arthur said, and he sounded awed. “You can’t be without, not even for a second.”

He didn’t need to specify what exactly it was Merlin couldn’t be without as he grasped hold of Merlin’s waist, aligned his cock and pushed forwards at the same time as pulling Merlin back towards him, slamming him into the desk with the force of his first thrust.

There was nothing that Arthur had that Merlin didn’t crave; nothing Merlin wanted that Arthur wasn’t prepared to give.

Merlin mouthed at the desk as Arthur moved inside him, sheet music sticking to his spit slicked lips as his entire torso was dragged brutally back and forth. He could taste the ink from the page, and the wood smelt like the coffee he had spilled on it that morning. Senses clashed, until touch eventually overrode everything else—the never-ending-touch of Arthur, now plastered to him, chest to back and toe to heel.

They never found a rhythm like the couples sometimes did in smutty magazines Merlin picked up from the shop round the corner. They didn’t rock in time to their heartbeats, or make love to the metre of some old sonnet.

Merlin was a jazz pianist, and Merlin fucked like he played—without structure or pulse or anything but crazy, hungry desire.

When Arthur came it was with a sigh, curled up around Merlin with his cheek resting on Merlin’s skin. His palm was kneading aimlessly as his orgasm shook him, first at the side of Merlin’s ribs and then under, to the flat of his stomach that stuck out over the table, and the thick base of his cock. That was all it took to get Merlin to come again—nothing moved but his dick, spurting white ropes across the underside of the desk as he lay still, eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion.

They continued not to move for a while, both content to simply soak up the aftermath—or at least until several aches began to make themselves known all over Merlin’s body, and he groaned loudly at the throbbing hurt in his hips.

Arthur laughed softly and kissed Merlin’s shoulder blade before peeling himself off, grimacing at the sound of skin leaving skin. Merlin mumbled something indistinct and shuffled to get his arms beneath his head as a makeshift pillow, fully intending to fall happily asleep where he was.

“Oh no you don’t,” Arthur grunted, but Merlin could hear the smile in his voice as he dragged Merlin upright, somehow managing to avoid being hit in the face by flailing limbs and completely immune to Merlin’s complaints. “You can’t bloody well sleep face down on the desk, _Mer_ lin.” He playfully dragged out the first syllable of Merlin’s name, making Merlin huff and frown.

He would never admit it, but sometimes Merlin thought that these moments, when Arthur was teasing him with words and helping him into his bed with fleeting caresses to his hair and gentle touches to his wrists, meant more than the sex. The way that Arthur slipped under the covers beside him, even though the space was too small, and tangled their legs together made something akin to hope flare up in the pit of Merlin’s stomach.

Merlin fell asleep first, body sticky and warm, nuzzling into his thin pillow and soothed by Arthur’s hand, clenched into a fist and pressed protectively to the centre of his chest.

In the morning it’d just be him, and he’d be okay. Arthur will have replaced the drugs he’d ground into the carpet with ones from his own coat pocket, as well as all the others Merlin had paid him for to keep making this life feel so good. He’d leave them on the desk that they’d fucked against, on top of the stained sheet music and beneath the paperweight that he’d have picked up and dusted off.

There’d be a note, like there always was, and Merlin would half scowl, half smile, and contemplate ripping it up, before changing his mind and adding it to the jar that he kept behind his stack of records on the bookshelf.

_Stop asking me for them, crazy, because you know I can’t say no. A._


End file.
